


He kindly stopped for me

by metonymy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Relationships, Gen, Post-Canon, Psychopomps, liminal states
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: "I will see you again."Vax'ildan sees all of Vox Machina one more time. Spoilers for episode 115 and everything before.





	He kindly stopped for me

Grog is in the temple. He's slower than he used to be, but he still likes to help out where he can, and sometimes that means letting a gnome cleric stand on his shoulders to reach the top of the statue of the Everlight for dusting. Holy statues shouldn't get dusty, it seems to him, but he's never been much good with the gods and all that. 

He settles down on one of the stone benches around the central room, watching Pike leave as she chatters to another cleric, and he lets the warmth sink into his bones. He's old for a goliath, he knows, white in his beard and wrinkles around his eyes, but it hasn't slowed him down. Much. Just a little bit creaky sometimes. 

"Hey, big guy." 

Grog opens one eye, cautiously. There's a slight shadow in the arch of a doorway across the room, and he thinks he sees Vax. Must be a trick of the light. Or maybe he's older than he thought and he's started to go a bit loopy. 

"Vax?" he says, quiet and confused. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, opens them again. The bastard's right in front of him and he yells. 

Vax claps him on the shoulder. "Sorry, Grog. Didn't mean to scare you." He's the same as the last time Grog saw him. Skinny as one of those daggers he favored, built for speed and sneaking instead of brute force. Dark in this room full of the golden light of Sarenrae. Just the same as before. Except not walking into a goddess this time. This is weird.

"You didn't," he says, stubborn. His eyes squint as he looks at Vax. "Is this some sort of trick? You're not a zombie or nothing?"

"Nope," Vax says. "Just me. You can check, if you want."

Grog thinks it over, because the only way he can think of to check is to punch him or something, but he doesn't really want to punch Vax. He tries to think of something only Vax would know. 

"Do you remember," he begins, "what you said when you gave me that love potion? That we put in Scanlan's drink?" 

Vax grins, shining like a blade in the dark. "I offered you an experience." 

And that sounds all right, so Grog pulls him in for a bone-crushing hug. Vax doesn't make the little noise everyone does when Grog hugs them, like he's squeezed the air out of them. That's also weird. 

"Sooooo," he says finally, releasing Vax and looking at him. When Grog is sitting down, he's almost of a height with the half-elf. "You come back for a visit or something?" The Raven's Crest isn't all that far from Pike's temple, as he still thinks of it. Maybe his friend got a day off. 

Vax shakes his head. "Wish it was that. But no. I've come to bring you home, brother."

"Home? But I'm here with Pike, we're going - oh." Grog's still not great with words, but he figures this out. "Ohhh." 

Vax smiles again, reaching out to tug gently at his beard. "Yeah. You ready?"

Grog thinks it over. And he doesn't really want to go. He doesn't want to leave his buddy Pike or Scanlan or their kids (gnome babies are _so little_ ) or Vasselheim or the Braving Grounds. But he's tired. And he's never been a coward. 

"Will there be ale?" It's as much to make Vax's face crease with a laugh as a real question. 

"Whatever you want, brother." 

"Then I guess I am. Come on, then." Grog extends his hand for a manly clasp. Vax's fingers are so gentle against his palm they seem to barely be there, like he really is a bird now or something. 

Black wings spring out from Vax's back, the dark mirror of those on the statue of the Everlight. There's a sudden wind, strange for the inside of a temple, and the feathers on the wings rustle as Vax leans in to hug him. Grog closes his eyes.

* * *

Tary is in his bedroom after another long day. He's technically retired, no longer riding out with the Brigade on their adventures, but he still oversees their work and the deeds of the auxiliary chapters throughout Wildmount. There are letters to be written and notes to be taken and ledgers to manage, all things that seemed frightfully dull once upon a time. But now he sits in bed beside an already-sleeping Lawrence, paging through a book in the light of a lamp. 

He hears someone clearing their throat at the other end of the room. 

No one should be able to make it past the wards on the house, or on their room, or on Tary himself.

"Doty?" he calls out, and the automaton moves with blurred speed - but even that is too slow, and there's a man at his bedside.

"Vax'ildan?" Tary asks, astonished. He's fairly sure his mind is still sound, and he knows for a fact that the half-elf died after the battle to seal Vecna. Is this some illusion? He twists his hand in the air, murmuring the words to dispel the charm or conjuration - but no, it's still that familiar face, with impeccable bone structure and dark hair pulled away. Ghostly pale, face floating above the dark armor and feathered epaulets that always looked quite snazzy to Taryon.

"Hello, Tary," Vax says, his eyes enormous and brilliant in the dim light of the lamp. 

"What a delightful surprise!" Tary says, too shocked to modulate his voice. But Lawrence sleeps on, giving another one of those little snores that Tary can't help but find charming still. "I'm sorry, I'm not at all prepared for visitors. But, ah… Vax. It may be indelicate to ask, but… I was under the impression that you were… no longer among the living?" His voice quirks up at the end, more than the question would warrant. If this is some foul spectre, he wants nothing of it. Particularly if it wears the face of such an old friend. But Tary reaches out with his mind and that strange other sense, and his wards still hold. 

Vax smiles a little, looking both very young and very, very old. Far older than Tary himself. "Something like that, yeah." He crouches beside the bed, looking up at Tary, almost fading into the shadows of the room beyond the circle of the lamplight. "Sorry for startling you."

"Stealthy as ever, eh?" Tary jokes, and Vax chuckles softly. "Not that it isn't wonderful to see you, dear boy, but I didn't expect a visit from you. Especially not at midnight." 

"Past that," Vax says. He cocks his head. "Tary, you know about the bargain I made. With the Matron of Ravens." 

"Yes," Tary says absently, racking his brains. He remembers a letter from Vex, long ago, and a visit a little while after. She'd still found it hard to speak of. But then there was somewhat about it in that book by their other friend, the gnome he'd only met a time or two. "Yes. Oh. And does that mean that I…" He trails off, looking down at Lawrence. For a moment Tary isn't sure if his husband is still breathing. Or perhaps Tary himself is caught in a moment outside the passage of time, on that threshold to the world beyond and the next great adventure. 

Vax gives him another smile, reminding Tary of Vex in the way it catches and makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. "I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances, friend." 

"Couldn't be helped," Tary says. He lays his book down and smooths out his mustache. He ought to be better attired, he supposes, but asking to change now seems frivolous. "Well then. It was an honor and a privilege to walk with Vox Machina. I can hardly refuse the call from one of our number." He extends a hand. 

Vax clasps the hand and pulls him in for a hug. "The privilege was mine, Taryon," he says, and any more words are lost in the rush of wind through the feathers of the wings that enfold them both. Taryon casts one last look at Lawrence and closes his eyes.

* * *

Percy is sitting in his workshop. Not the one he used before to cast weapons and forge death; a room high in Whitestone with plenty of light, suitable for the delicate work of placing gears upon gears and listening for the catch of tiny teeth clicking together.

He's not working, of course. He rarely works anymore, now that his vision has worsened and his hands tremble with frustrating irregularity. But it's still a place he likes to spend time, when his wife is busy with the matters of Pelor or he wants a moment of quiet without the grandchildren tearing through the halls. The sun is warm upon his back as he idly twirls a screwdriver, thinking of the gift he'll give her at Winter's Crest this year. 

"Hello, Freddie," says a voice from the shadow behind the open door. 

Somehow, Percy isn't surprised. 

"Hello, Vax," he replies. He lifts his head and peers into the shadow. And there he is, looking just the same as the last time Percy saw him, yet somehow ineffably transmuted. His skin doesn't bear the waxy cast of the revenant form. Instead it's even paler than before, white as porcelain, skin taut over the bones.The feathers lie against his shoulders, the narrow braids laced with silver and crimson where they draw back from his face. The crow-skull pendant still rests on his chest and Percy finds himself absurdly touched. 

Perhaps not absurdly. He knows why Vax must be here.

"Is it time, then?" he asks. He doesn't need to ask. 

Vax crosses into the sunlight, feathers gleaming in the sun. He looks sad - and yet he's smiling. "Sorry, brother."

"Don't be. I've had more time than I ever expected." Percy forces his aching spine to straighten, shoulders down. "Did you see? Any of it?" Anything of what he accomplished, of how Vex mourned and then dedicated herself to life, how he never built another weapon but only things that were useful and beautiful and could never wield death, how their children grew and prospered and always remembered their uncle's name. The idea that Vax missed all of it is somehow unbearable, even though he wasn't there. If he's coming back now, he must have seen it. That's how it ought to work, isn't it?

"Bits and pieces," Vax says cryptically, and then he gives Percy that crooked smirk. "Ravens really are shits-for-brains, did you know?" 

Percy can't help but chuckle. "I'm not at all surprised to hear that." He should be frightened, he supposes, but he can't be. He spoke truly; he's had nearly a full century, inexplicable and welcome. The scions of Whitestone are generally long-lived. (It's more than his parents ever got.) The city will be in good hands, after he's gone; his children, his grandchildren, Cassandra, and Vex. Beautiful Vex, teaching him so much, standing by his side. 

Vax is standing before him now, hale and well. Percy isn't afraid. Terribly sad to be leaving his family, of course. But he's had a good life, in spite of the blood and demons and regrets. And when death comes to him smiling, he cannot fear. Besides, it would be awfully uncouth to beg for more time. 

"Thank you," he says finally, hating the tremble of his voice. "I'm glad it was you."

"Me too," Vax says, eyes glittering. He leans over to hug Percy, his arms surprisingly substantial and warm. "Thank you for looking after her. Love you, Freddie."

Black wings fold around them both. Percy hears the rustling of feathers and closes his eyes.

* * *

Vex is outside, of course. The older she gets, the more she should probably want to spend time inside by the fire and swathed in furs and velvet and rich woolen blankets. But she's lived in Whitestone long enough for the chill to make her feel more alive, even now. And the forest still calls to her. It just takes longer to get there.

She's not at all surprised to find snowdrops beneath the bench in the woods, between the dwindling patches of melting snow. Vex settles herself down, resting the staff Keyleth made for her against the wood beside her. (She refuses to call it a cane, and really it's more impressive than any doddering ancient's stick could be, called forth from a living tree by an Archdruid and gently coaxed to offer her support.) She should be down at the temple or making ready for lessons with her newest great-grandchildren, but sometimes she still needs to steal away to the wild places. Even if this is hardly wild at all. 

She tips her face up to the sun, struggling past the chains of winter to send a pale warmth down. Spring is on its way. 

"Sleeping on the job, Stubby?"

Her reflexes have slowed a little as she ages, and her hearing's a little less keen than when she was young, but Vex still whirls and flings up her hands with a spell on her lips. It falls away when she sees him. 

"Vax," she chokes out, a sob rising in her throat. And in an instant he's moved from the shadows between the trees to stand before her, arms wrapping around her, his chest solid as she presses her face into those damnable feathers and weeps. She's done her mourning for him, but it's been so long. For a while she just clings to him and cries, feeling his hand stroke her hair and hearing him murmur stupid soothing little words. It reminds her of being a child in Syngorn again. That was a long time ago too. But she remembers coming back to their chambers hot with shame and fury both, tears betraying her as they leaked down her cheeks, and Vax would always hold her until she was done. And then he usually went off to wreak havoc on them. Sweet Pelor, she's missed him.

Finally she pulls back, wiping absently at her cheeks and smiling up at him. "Is that it, then? Are you free? Was it long enough to serve her?" It's been a century, after all, and more. Perhaps he had simply to serve out his term and now he's back. But Vax gives her the saddest goddamned smile and she knows, she knows. "Oh," she says faintly. 

"I told you I'd see you again," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. Vex reaches up, her hand startlingly tan against the bone white of his skin, and wipes the tears away from his eyes. 

"You did," she says. "But when have you ever said anything sensible?"

"Oi," he says, indignant, and that makes her laugh, and then they both laugh, the glade ringing with it. Gods, it has been so long since she heard him laugh. He pulls back a little, cupping her face between both his hands. 

"I'm so proud of you," he murmurs. His eyes scan over her, taking everything in. "You've done so much. You've lived."

"I had to," she whispers. "For both of us. I… when I was… when it was worst, Percy would remind me that you'd hate to see me pour my life out in weeping. And I knew he was right."

Vax smooths her hair back, kissing her forehead. "You honored me by living. By loving him, and the world, and everything. I just wish I'd been here for it." And then she has to throw herself at him again, holding him tight, as if she'd never let him go. His chin digs into the top of her head and he's holding her such that her ribs ought to ache, but it's perfect. The glade is strangely quiet, no sound of wind or voices carried from the castle guard. She only pulls back when she hears something skittering through the branches just beyond. Vex wipes her eyes, tucking her handkerchief away with a sigh.

"I must look a fright," she says, knowing her eyes are red-rimmed, hating that she's aged so much and he hasn't had the chance to grow old alongside her.

Vax shakes his head, his smile fond and still so sad. "You look beautiful. And I know someone who's waiting for you who will agree with me." 

Oh. Vex feels her heart squeeze in her chest. It's been years since that second loss, but she still misses Percy terribly. It didn't seem fair that she should once again be the one left behind. "Is he," she begins, and then stops. Now Vax looks merry, like the old days, and she's missed him _so_ much, and she's crying again but she's smiling. 

"You'll see. Come along, sister," he says. His arms wrap around her. In the shadows between the trees, Vex thinks she can see familiar forms. White hair and glasses gleaming with reflected light, the round welcoming shape of a woman with hair dark as hers used to be, and something hulking and furry beside them. 

Vex laughs again, as black wings flare out and feathers rustle past her. She closes her eyes.

* * *

Pike is lying on the beach. She's missed the sea now and then over the years. Traveling on it, directed solely by the winds and not by her goddess or the necessity of a quest. Even through the umbrella above her, the sun overhead is warm and she can hear the crashing of the waves nearby. It's a nice break from running the temple and her work with the council of Vasselheim. The only way it could be better is if Scanlan was with her - but he's on a trip with Kaylie and his grandchildren, and honestly it's nice to have a little peace and quiet. She wiggles her toes into the sand and sighs, relaxing further. 

"Hi, Pickle." It's close, so close, and she flails around and up until she can see Vax. He's crouched under the shade of her beach umbrella, black feathered armor looking faintly ridiculous under its cheery hues. He looks like - no, he doesn't truly look like that last day upon the steps of the Platinum Sanctuary, when they were all bloodied and covered in dust and ash. He looks like an illustration out of Scanlan's book, an engraving of vengeance in black and parchment, utterly out of place on a sunny beach. And yet it's a face she's shared so many meals and battles and jests with, one she hasn't forgotten even after all these years. 

"Vax?" Her hand comes up to clutch the holy symbol, still about her neck even in her beach gear. He doesn't flinch, just keeps smiling at her. There's no sense of evil, no hint of an undead's foul presence. This is Vax, and it is more than he used to be, and less, and something else. Pike knows what it is to be touched by a goddess. 

He shifts to sit cross-legged on her towel, striped blue and white against the sand. Pike gives up on the decorum she cloaks herself with as the reverent beacon of the Everlight and launches herself into his arms. Vax catches her, long arms wrapping easily about her smaller form. He presses his cheek against her hair. 

"You kept the fun buns," he murmurs. She smiles a little, face pressed against his chest. Now she's got wrinkles to match the snow-white hue of her hair. But she does pull it up into the twin buns sometimes and thinks of him and their days together. Pike tries not to sneeze as a feather tickles her nose. 

"Sometimes," she says. "You kept the braids." 

"I kept everything with me," he says. "You showed me how." They're not talking about hair anymore. Pike can't bear to think of what they are talking about. 

It's not dignified at her age to be in someone's lap, but she stays there anyway, finally pulling back enough to look up at him. His eyes are darker than they used to be. And he looks so sad. She reaches up to tweak one of his braids, then lets her hand rest on his chest. No heartbeat. Nothing at all. Vax tolerates this with patience, and that alone is a change she wouldn't have expected. 

"I tried," she said. "But it's not easy to explain. It's not easy to do, either." A life in service and dedication to a deity is a complicated path. And Pike follows the Everlight, redemption and healing and warmth. Even when she's felt unworthy, how much harder to do the bidding of a goddess of fate and death?

Vax huffs out a laugh, shaking his head a bit. "It's not, no. But easier when I get to see a familiar face." 

Pike has always thought she would be welcomed home to Sarenrae's domain, the one that they visited in the days long past, her final mortal vision a glimpse of a goddess bright and peaceful. Not carried across the threshold by an old friend. Still, it's his domain. Maybe she should have expected it. 

"Are you lonely?" she asks. She's not sure, after all, if the souls of her friends have stayed in the domain of the Raven Queen. Or maybe they're scattered - perhaps Grog is in the Elysian Fields, and Vex and Percy in Pelor's orchards. The look on Vax's face tells her what she feared, though he smooths it over. 

"I keep busy," he says. 

"Well, then," Pike replies, scooting to sit beside him on the blanket. "Stay a while. Just until the sun sets?"

She's not pleading for more time, not for her sake. Pike has lived a long life and seen much and loved well. She knows Scanlan will be all right, with mourning and celebration of her life alike. She has seen the worship of the Everlight return to Exandria. But she wants this moment for Vax, for her friend that she's missed for so many years. 

Vax is still for a long while. And then he wraps his arm around her shoulders. She leans into his side and gazes out at the ocean, watching as the sun sinks slowly and the sky turns to deeper blue, then purple and crimson and gold. They don't talk, they just watch the graceful descent of the light past the horizon. When the sun finally dips down, there's a last brilliant flash and Pike closes her eyes against it. Vax tugs her even closer, hugging her tight. She hears him murmur, beneath a sudden rush of wind and the noise of his wings. 

"Thank you."

* * *

Scanlan is in a library, of all the damned places in the world. He's grown to appreciate silence over the years, the companionable quiet that can be had with a loved one around a campfire or the expectant hush of a crowd. However, there's something about libraries that makes him want to start playing something incredibly loud and obnoxious on his shawm. He should probably apologize to Ioun for that. Still, he drops in on one every few years to see if copies of _In the Belly of Dragons_ are kicking around.

Also, if he's lucky he can find a nice quiet corner for a nap. He's come to appreciate naps much more as he gets older. Kaylie teases him about it, but now that he's an old man in truth he finds he doesn't care to object. 

He's found an armchair in a nice sunny spot where he can rest his bones for a bit, humming idly to himself under his breath. Just resting his eyes. 

"Inspiring as ever," someone says, and Scanlan's eye snaps open. 

"Well, fuck me," he says, because how can he not. Vax'ildan smirks. That's an expression Scanlan had almost forgotten. Not just from the decades - centuries - that have passed. But in those last few months Vax had been so dour. With good reason, of course. Still. 

"Hello, old friend," Vax says, still standing in the shadows between the bookcases. 

"Are you calling me old?" Scanlan shoots back. He levers himself to sit upright. The dignity of old age isn't something he's sought out, but the dignity of not being slumped down in a squashy armchair is enough to muster. 

"Peace, peace," Vax replies. He crosses through the sunbeam that spills through the window and doesn't burst into flames or anything. Scanlan knows a little bit about a lot of things by this point; he's not surprised by that part, and not truly surprised that Vax is still around in some form. At least it's not a raven flying around. Scanlan has had enough of that on his visits to Whitestone to last him a lifetime. "Friend was the more important part there."

"A long time ago, we used to be friends." Scanlan looks at Vax leaning against the windowsill, sunlight gleaming on the feathers of his armor. "But that was a while ago. Been keeping busy? Picked up any new hobbies?"

"Just the one, really. And it's not so much a hobby as a job." The lines of Vax's face have fallen into that dreadful solemnity again. 

"A job. Is that what she calls it? What you do?" Because Scanlan isn't stupid, and he's read enough stories and legends and learned enough songs to know what's going on here. He knows why his old friend the harbinger-of-the-Raven-Queen has suddenly appeared to him. And he doesn't want it. Not yet. 

Vax shrugs. "It's not as if I have much choice in the matter. And I try to do what I can. To make it an easy passage." An expression passes over his face like a ripple in a still pond, the memory of distant pain. "To be the one who comes for each of you."

"Each of - oh, you bastard." It's been years since Pike passed away; deep gnomes have a shorter lifespan. Scanlan had always half-excused it to himself as the toll Sarenrae had claimed. But he's carried that hurt with him nonetheless. "You expect me to thank you for being the one who killed her?"

Vax stands, brows drawing together and his cloak snapping out in an unseen breeze. "I didn't kill her, Scanlan. You know that. I made her passage as peaceful as possible. And yes, I wanted to see her. I wanted to see my friend again. That's all I can do." 

Scanlan is leaning forward in his chair, fists clenched. It's so much easier to be angry at what Vax has taken from him than to acknowledge the pain they both share. He misses Pike. He's missed Vax. He misses all of them, really. It's not Vax's fault, precisely, it's that fucking raven goddess of his. 

"Bullshit," he says, but the anger is already fading. Vax nods, and the cloak falls limp behind him.

There's a long moment of silence.

"Am I already dead?" Scanlan asks finally, fists still pressing against the leather of the chair. It's very quiet. Surely a librarian should have shushed them by now.

Vax shrugs eloquently, spreading his hands. "No. Yes. Not quite. It's a moment, that's all." He appears to have gotten philosophical in his old age. 

"What if I run?" 

Vax raises an eyebrow. "You wouldn't get very far. Not even with a spell." 

Scanlan could have guessed as much, because old age has not made him stupid. "I had to ask." He sighs, letting his hands uncurl. They're slow to do so, joints creaking. It's been hard to play these last few years. His voice hasn't deserted him, but he misses his instruments. "Can I leave something for Kaylie?" 

Vax's expression softens, and he leans against the wall beside the window. "If you want." 

Scanlan rummages around in his things for parchment and a pencil and pauses. What can he possibly say to Kaylie that he hasn't already said? She knows he loves her, that she's the best thing that ever happened to him, that he'd do anything for her. They've had a very long time together. It's all been said and expressed in a thousand ways. In the end he scribbles down inadequate words, which are all he has ever had, and doodles at the bottom: himself and Vax, flipping off the Raven Queen. 

He rolls the parchment up and tucks it inside his shawm, still at his side. Kaylie is the only one who would think to look in there. 

Vax is still waiting and watching when he looks up. "Well?" he inquires.

"Bugger all this for a lark," Scanlan replies. "Want to go get a drink?"

Vax's laughter is still ringing from the high ceiling as he approaches, dropping to his knees in front of the armchair. "More than anything, brother."

Scanlan lifts a hand to Vax's face and smacks him very gently, more to keep Vax laughing than anything else. 

"There's a half-elf and gnome, both a long way from home, and they're climbing a stairway to Heaven," he sings. The last words are lost in the rush of wind rattling through feathers as dark wings enclose them both. Scanlan closes his eyes.

* * *

Keyleth stands on the cliffside. She's known her time was coming, felt her body finally and inevitably slowing down after so many centuries. It's not necessarily the aching bones and rheumy eyes of old age. She simply seems to be changing to a slower rhythm. From the rapid crackling of a raging fire and the force of a rushing breeze, to the inexorable push and pull of the ocean's tides, and now to somewhat that rests for long periods with only an occasional outburst of rockslide or quake. 

So much has passed over the years. Empires rising and falling, names and faces passing before her in what feels like an instant, language itself shifting and blurring into nigh unrecognizable forms. But she has kept her vigil here when she can. Sometimes a raven comes to visit, still. Keyleth is under no illusion that it's been the same raven; that would be a nice legend for children, but she hasn't been a child for a very long time. 

There's one today, waiting for her in the branches and fluttering down. She offers it a bit of meat, dusting her hands after the smooth beak snatches it out of her hands. Perhaps someone else will come to feed it after this day. Ravens are smart birds, though. It will figure something out if no one comes. She hasn't left instructions that her vigil be continued. It was a private matter of hers. A habit of an old woman's, not a responsibility of the Voice of the Tempest. One last look at the valley before her is all she needs. It's a long look, watching the colors of the sky shift and the people of Zephra go about their business. Their lives will continue. The Ashari will continue. She spent so long thinking she would never be needed, and now at the end she finds that she has been needed - and now, they will need her no longer. One last lesson.

At length the raven leaves her shoulder to perch in the tree. It's time.

Keyleth presses her hands against the bark of the tree. She takes one last breath and closes her eyes, stepping into it. It's not like when she used to open a door from tree to tree, dashing through a strange tunnel from Whitestone to the other side of the world. The bark and sapwood tug at her skin, every particle of her caught at by innumerable vesicles and grains, the tree taking her into itself like a lover or a sinkhole devouring the unwary, but she can't stop now. She sinks further, face pressing past the bark, fingers stretching into the heartwood, the sound of the wind over the mountain suddenly gone, and she can't breathe, her lungs are burning, the last touch of air on her skin vanishing, and then -

She falls.

Someone catches her. 

"Keyleth." 

"Oh, shit."

There's a laugh in the darkness. Keyleth is afraid to open her eyes. Afraid for the first time in many, many years. 

Fingers trace over the line of her brow, push her hair back over one ear. Strange that there's space within the tree for that. Strange that someone should be waiting for her. 

"I thought you'd be happy to see me, love." 

Keyleth opens her eyes and sees Vax'ildan. His hair is falling around them, strung with bright beads and ribbon. His arm around her feels strong and warm and not separated by gauntlet or plate. And he's smiling.

"I am," she says, raising a hand to cup his cheek. Her hand is smooth and unlined again. Maybe she should be more surprised about that. But she's just fallen inside a tree and been caught by her first love who died a thousand years ago. Not much is surprising after that. "Oh, Vax, I am." 

He leans down to kiss her, slow at first and then all over her face, and Keyleth laughs and sputters and kisses him back as best she can. 

"Your antlers," he says finally, pulling away enough to touch her temple. 

"Oh!" Keyleth reaches up, realizing the familiar weight is gone. So is her mantle. "I guess they got left outside the tree. Which - where are we?" She pulls back a little more, looking around. There's not much to see, just a silvery grey mist that hangs in the air. There's air to begin with. A gentle light filters through. 

"Not precisely a where," Vax says. "Usually I don't stay for long. It's just the place we pass through on the way."

"The way to where? The afterlife? The Raven Queen's domain?" Keyleth can feel her brows coming together in a frown. If she has to fight the Matron of Ravens she will. She's been an Archdruid for a thousand years. 

"All of those. And none of them." Vax tips his head to one side, his hands now resting on her hips. "It depends. And you never followed one god, my love." 

"No," Keyleth says. Her hands tighten on his shoulders, on the strangely formless garment he's wearing. Black, still. But he wore a lot of black before his vow. Good for sneaking through shadows. "Are you going to leave me again?"

Vax shakes his head firmly. "I'm not precisely sure where we're going. But I know there's no one I would rather have by my side."

Keyleth feels the smile tug at her cheeks. "I missed you." She might have cried, once.

He smiles right back, warm and loving, a look she's carried with her all these years. "I missed you too." 

"So what now?" 

"Like I said, I'm not sure." Vax shifts to stand beside her, his bare hand sliding to hold hers. "But we'll figure it out. And maybe we can find some friends along the way." 

"Planning never was our strong suit," Keyleth agrees, peering into the mist. "Ass first into danger, right?"

"Right." Vax grins again. "No one I'd rather do it with." 

Keyleth looks over at him for one more moment, the face she's seen in so many dreams, thinking of the friends who've passed before her. She's not sure what lies ahead. But that never stopped them before.

Eyes open, she and Vax step into the mist.


End file.
